


Reflections in a Library

by GrainneGrangerMcGonagall



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:15:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27562903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrainneGrangerMcGonagall/pseuds/GrainneGrangerMcGonagall
Summary: While on vacation with her parents, Hermione Granger visits a library. She reflects on what was and what could have been.A short piece playing with memory and melancholy within a narrative. Based on a lived experience.
Relationships: Hermione Granger & Minerva McGonagall
Comments: 2
Kudos: 17





	Reflections in a Library

Hello! This is my very first attempt at fanfiction. HG/MM is my favorite paring for various reasons, so I thought that I would contribute to the community.

Reflections in a Library

Hermione Granger and her parents had come to this chalet many times when she was a child. She breathed in the familiar smells of dust, wood smoke rising from the crackling fire in the corner of the room, and sauerkraut bubbling away in the nearby kitchens. The war veteran left her bag filled with materials for work on her first two masteries on the table where she had learned to write in cursive as a child. She would get to them later. This was, after all, her first family holiday since Professor McGonagall had helped her to restore her parents’ memories, since Professor McGonagall-

No, Hermione’s mussed curls shook as she tried to block out the thought. She would not think of that, or her, not when she had fought so hard for this bit of peace. She shivered, but not from the winter wind that rushed through the Alps outside of the library window. She could not allow herself to get upset, because that would mean confessing to her parents that her Transfiguration professor had completely broken not only her heart, but damaged her sense of self-worth.

“I should never have been so foolish.” Hermione murmured to herself. The year that she had spent completing her education at Hogwarts had been predominantly spent in the company of one Minerva McGonagall. Minerva had always exhibited a soft-spot for the young Gryffindor, often remarking in a barely audible whisper “You’re just like I was when I was a student.” Yet aside from a few meetings about career advice, or a particularly memorable one in second year when she had inquired, much to the Professor’s amusement and pride, if it was too early to think about a Mastery, Hermione had not spent much time with the Transfiguration Professor.

“You avoided me for years,” Minerva had said with a touch of sadness at their last- or was it their first?- date. Standing in the hotel library in Switzerland, Hermione couldn’t remember what she had said in response. Hermione eyed the window seat with the faded red cushions. Many times, she had dreamed of taking the professor here. Her ill-begotten crush as an eleven-year-old had lain dormant until that fateful eighth year, when the stern Professor had suddenly transformed into a person.

“Good Afternoon, Professor McGonagall!” Hermione said brightly as she passed the professor on the street of Hogsmade. It was the first outing of the year, and Hermione was enjoying the brisk autumn of the Highlands.

“Hello, Hermione,” Outside of class, Professor McGonagall had taken to her first name since the war. Hermione thought that it would be disrespectful to return the favor until after graduation. “Where are you off to?”

“Oh, I just came from the bookshop, so I’m not going any place in particular.”

“I could do with a spot of lunch, if you would care to join me.” Hermione was taken aback. Professor McGonagall’s reputation as stern and aloof extended even among her colleagues.

  
“I… I could do that.”

Hermione snapped herself from her memories. A book, that’s what she needed. She approached the shelves of the hotel library as if they were old friends. Her finger caressed the spine of Heidi in a movement that reminded her of how Minerva would trace her fingers up or across her back during classes that last year. How they never got caught…

That lunch proved to be Hermione’s first exposure to Indian food. (“Chicken Tikka Masala was invented in Glasgow,” Minerva stated with thinly veiled pride.) It also was the first of nearly daily conversations over tea. These conversations never ventured into the realms of Transfiguration or Theory but became increasingly personal. As Hermione began to know the darkly funny and surprisingly kind woman before her, that crush flared back into life.

That crush proved to be more than mutual. Many evenings would be spent with Minerva’s feet in Hermione’s lap as one wrote, and one read. Even though they spoke almost every day, they also sent an owl to each other every evening. The two witches forged a bond that was as physically stimulating as it was intellectually stimulating. Every touch, every glance boiled with unconcealed desire. Each had found the one person in the world that utterly understood the other. Because of this, or ins spite of it, they respected Hogwarts and their integrity too much to cross the final line.  
So Hermione couldn’t understand why, months before Graduation, when she truly needed the support of her -girlfriend?- the most, Minerva had sent her a Howler telling Hermione that her actions towards her professor were inappropriate.

Hermione blamed herself. With her riotous hair and her awkward nature, who would ever find her desirable? She had made the person that she loved more than anyone else on earth feel uncomfortable. She spent her last months at her beloved school studiously avoiding the woman that she had fallen in love with.

A tear trickling down her cheek brought Hermione back to the present, to the library in the ski lodge that she had dreamed of whisking Minerva away to. Minerva loved the mountains. She scanned the familiar muggle books. She must have read every single one of them over the years, generally books left behind by beleaguered tourists.

She stopped.

She gasped.

Hermione pulled out a copy, a brand-new copy wrapped in cellophane packaging, of a book that she knew all too well. She was the only one in the world with a signed copy, because she was the only person in the world who thought to ask for one. She could almost see her reflection in the glistening cover.

A tear glistened on the cover of The Traumas of Transfigural Educational Elements by Minerva McGonagall.


End file.
